As Never Before
by xAndarielx
Summary: Marital bliss has found Colonel Brandon and Marianne, but a ghost from their past seeks to reclaim the woman he has lost. S
1. One Fine Day

**Disclaimer: I am not Jane Austen, nor do I pretend that I created any of these wonderful characters.  
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**AN: I am pleased to present the first chapter of my first Jane Austen fanfic. Austenites beware, this story is based mainly on the 1995 movie. Please give me any feedback you have, mistakes, comments, etc. I so appreciate it!**

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"My dear Mrs. Brandon, I do believe you're blushing." Colonel Christopher Brandon's husky voice was devilishly close to her ear, his warm breath caressing the side of her cheek. Marianne Brandon, his wife of six blissful months, did indeed feel a flush creeping along her neck and face, but she only laughed softly, thoroughly delighted in her husband's attentions.

"If I'm blushing, sir, it is only because you can be terribly shocking at times," she told him in a low voice, doing her best to imitate the tone of a scandalized woman. Christopher, easily seeing through her playful charade, wrapped his arms tighter around her, gently drawing her golden head back against his chest and kissed her lightly on her cheek.

"A husband kissing his wife is hardly a shocking thing, Marianne," he reminded her with laughter in his voice. His strong fingers traced the gentle contours of her delicate face, encouraging her to lean further into his beloved embrace.

"Certainly not," she agreed, smiling up at him. "Except, that is, when you choose to bestow such affection upon me in the drawing room with the doors thrown wide open." His grin was wickedly unrepentant. "And, of course, when you seek me out in the middle of an aria." Sure enough, Marianne's soaring voice had drawn him all the way from his study and through their mighty house of Delaford to her side. Without so much as a word he'd pulled her into his arms, settling himself on the pianoforte's bench before demonstrating with a long, powerful kiss just how strong his affections apparently were that bright, sunny morning.

"Well then, my dear," he whispered in a conciliatory tone, "we shall just have to take ourselves someplace where we needn't fear the wandering eyes of others." Marianne gasped as her husband practically bounded off the bench, his arms still wrapped tightly around her petite form, and abandoned the bright drawing room. Through the great halls he strode, his heart soaring at Marianne's musical laughter, until he mounted the grand stairs that would take them to their shared chambers.

"Christopher, you truly _are_ shocking!" Marianne burst between her giggles, her arms drawn about his neck as she lifted her lips to gently kiss his own. As if he needed any more incentive, his pace quickened and within moments they were safely ensconced in their bedroom. Wasting no time, he carried her immediately for the four-poster canopied bed, settling her with gentle earnest against the satin pillows. Drawing near her, he lay on his side propped on an elbow, taking in the unblemished beauty of his young wife's angelic face.

"If you stare at me like that any longer, I can't be held responsible for my actions," she murmured, her slender hands cupping his face as she sought for a kiss. He obliged her most willingly, rolling over and bracing his arms on either side of her.

"I am truly the luckiest man in all of England," he whispered warmly before kissing her again.

"And I," she returned after a moment, "am truly the luckiest woman in all the world." He gave a short, disbelieving laugh before his lips descended on hers with more insistency than the kisses they had shared before. Every moment was like a waking dream for both of them, each sharing with growing surprise the true, unfettered love they found in one another.

_There truly is no greater felicity than this,_ Marianne thought to herself happily, and then quite willingly allowed herself to be overwhelmed by the moment, forgetting the world in its entirety for quite some time.

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Marianne awoke slowly, feeling deliciously lethargic. Christopher laid close beside her, his strong arm draped across her waist in a kind of intimacy she so loved. The midday sun shone through the grand windows beyond, and she couldn't help but grin. Their honeymoon had ended five months ago, yet nearly everyday was spent in some way reliving many of those pleasurable events. She would have been perfectly content to remain where she was, listening to the cadence of her lover's heartbeat and his slow, deep breaths as he slept on.

Unfortunately, the clattering noise of an arriving carriage drew her wider awake, and with a start she pulled herself away from her husband's side. She heard her younger sister's voice before she drew to the window, chattering amiably to the footmen who assisted her down from the carriage. Peering through the polished panes, she watched bemusedly as Margaret Dashwood blatantly ignored their mother's pointed stare, continuing her lively one-sided conversation with a silent footman who could not help but smile.

Returning to the bed, she drew around to the opposite side where Christopher slept, placing one of her sweet kisses upon his cheek. He smiled sleepily, his eyes still tightly shut. "Come back and lay beside me, dearest," he urged her drowsily, reaching blindly to grasp her arm. Marianne gasped, startled as his eyes flew open, and with another of his wicked smiles, he pulled her off her feet and back onto the bed.

"Christopher," she laughed, "you're incorrigible. Don't you remember that you promised to take Margaret fishing this afternoon?"

He sighed deeply, burrowing his face in her golden curls, most of which had come loose from their stylish chignon. "Confound it all," he murmured, trying unsuccessfully to hold Marianne any tighter. He already had her so near they were practically one body. "I had forgotten. There is no hope for it, then." They rose together, helping one another straighten their slightly rumpled clothes. Marianne straightened Christopher's cravat before going to her vanity. Almost laughing at her own disarray, she managed to create a new tidy chignon, though several stubborn curls refused to be pinned with the rest of her long tresses.

"Leave it," Christopher instructed her from across the room, drawing his boots back onto his feet. "You look like spring itself, Miss Marianne." Glancing over her shoulder at him, she smiled at his endearing name for her. She was, of course, no longer a Miss Marianne at all, yet it was what he had always called her before and during their courtship, and her heart always soared when he called her such.

"As you wish, Colonel," she teasingly replied, offering a mock salute as she rose from the cushioned chair.

"Do I look presentable, do you think?" he questioned with some seriousness, standing tall and with his arms at his side so she could look him over. He was to her eyes one of the most devastatingly handsome men she had ever known, though perhaps he had not always been to her. Dressed impeccably in simple, dark colors, he needed no extravagant clothing to make him appear any better. Peacock colors and other strangely feminine fashions that some of society's fops still favored would look ridiculous on him, and Christopher Brandon was anything but ridiculous.

Her eyes strayed from his body to his face, unremarkable to some but most extraordinary to her. His hair was light in color as hers, though darker in its shades perhaps, and no doubt sporting a bit of premature gray. But those waves framed his chiseled features perfectly, and he looked an officer in every way. Approaching him with a gliding step, she observed him with what appeared to be a critical eye, allowing a playful frown to turn his soft pink lips down. "Well," she murmured daintily and politely, pretending to look away for a moment. "You'll have to do, I suppose. You are, after all, only the most handsome man from here to London, at least, so I'll made an exception of your appearance just this one."

"Wicked thing," Christopher laughed, drawing her to him and kissing her forehead. "You're an angel next to me, and you know it. You're an angel next to _anyone_, and you know it."

"If I am a wicked thing, then I couldn't possible be an angel," she quipped, giving him her hand so he could escort her to meet her waiting family.

"Believe me, Marianne," he assured her, his voice suddenly softly serious. "There has never been an angel such as you, my dearest. I have truly been blessed with a woman who is heaven sent."

Moved, she wanted nothing more than to lead him back into their room so she could show him what his words meant to her. But since they were now descending the stairs, she could only kiss him on his cheek and squeeze his hand, though her eyes glowed with true happiness.

"There you are!" Margaret's voice found them before she was even seen, though shortly she came bounding out of the largest of Delaford's sitting rooms much to the alarm of Mrs. Dashwood. "I thought this day would never come!" she gaily told them, rushing to Marianne's side and linking her free arm with her own. "Today is a perfect day for fishing, though Mama says it's a little cold, and I'm wild with excitement!"

Marianne and Christopher laughed as the trio entered the sitting room. Mrs. Dashwood rose and moved to embrace her second eldest daughter, shooing Margaret back to one of the settees. "As always, you look remarkably well, darling," she praised her child before turning her attention to her son-in-law. "And you, Colonel Brandon, are looking extremely well, too. I am so happy that marriage agrees with you both."

Christopher could not help but look adoringly at his Marianne, pleased beyond measure when she returned his look. Yes, marriage did agree with the both of them, more so than they could have ever imagined. "Thank you, madam," he responded, gesturing with an arm for her to sit before leading Marianne to an elegant couch. "Have you come to fish yourself?" he asked teasingly, taking Marianne's hand and clasping it tightly as he sat beside her.

"Good heavens, no," she laughed, scarcely able to imagine such a thing. She was not truly an old woman, though time had flown by swiftly for the widow. Still clinging to some of the beauty of her younger days, it was not difficult to see where the beauty of her three golden-haired daughters came from. "I am here to make sure Margaret does not get into trouble," she assured them as pleasantly as she could, though her wizened eyes glanced at Margaret with some concern.

"I'll see to that, Mamma," Marianne said bemusedly, subtly winking at her sister. Margaret giggled, trying unsuccessfully to smother her humor with her hand. Mrs. Dashwood nearly rolled her eyes, thinking of the times when Marianne had been part to blame in some of the mischief that Margaret tended to cause. Though her new role as wife to Colonel Brandon had certainly helped to settle some of her passions, she was still the same passionate young woman she had always been. No doubt the two of them together would find something silly to accomplish, though hopefully with her presence and the strong presence of Colonel Brandon, any drastic events could be avoided.

"If only Elinor were here," the mother bemoaned with some humor.

"Edward and Elinor are due to arrive shortly," Marianne informed her happily, and everyone seemed genuinely. As if on cue, footsteps approached from the wooden floors of the hall, and Harrison, the distinguished old butler, announced the arrival of the parish priest and his wife.

"What a delightful surprise!" Mrs. Dashwood gushed, going to embrace her eldest daughter. "I did not know you would be coming today."

"Margaret promised dire recompenses if we did not attend," Edward Ferrars mentioned teasingly, smiling in the young girl's direction.

"Margaret, you didn't!" her mother gasped, giving her a sharp look.

"They were invited by the Colonel and myself," Marianne quickly corrected. "Margaret was so kind as to help us persuade them, that is all."

Their mother did not look convinced, but she accepted the explanation with good humor. "And how do you fair, Elinor?" she inquired of the tallest of her daughters, referring to her rounded belly.

"Very well, I thank you," she assured her, smiling at Edward. "I am only five months along now, but it seems an eternity before we will be able to welcome our son in to the world."

"Or daughter," Edward was quick to add, grinning.

"Yes, or daughter," Elinor amended. From where Marianne stood beside her husband, she saw with great joy how well motherhood already agreed with her sister. Elinor, ever graceful and serene, had been positively glowing ever since she had discovered that she and Edward were destined to become parents. The looks they shared with one another were reminiscent of the ones she and Christopher shared, and Marianne looked forward with great anticipation to the time when she and her own husband would take that next wonderful step of life.

"Well, the weather is perfect, as Margaret has reminded me," Christopher announced. "I've also taken the liberty of having a picnic prepared." This was received with a chorus of clapping and happy words, most emphatically, of course, from young Margaret. "So, if everyone is ready, we shall set off."

All had been prepared for well ahead of time. Colonel Brandon had been a military man for some years, and one of his great qualities was his ability to plan any event perfectly. Earlier that morning he had reminded Harrison and Mrs. Jones, the housekeeper, to see to the preparations for their little party. As the happy group exited Delaford to the front drive, he saw with satisfaction that one of his finest carriages was prepared as directed, the very same that had brought Mrs. Dashwood and Margaret to Delaford, and a cart with an awaiting servant atop it was filled with two large baskets for their picnic and the various requirements for a fishing excursion.

Mrs. Dashwood, Margaret, Elinor and Edward happily filled the carriage, aware that Colonel Brandon and Marianne would ride by horseback, as was their wont. Marianne had been an avid rider before their move to Barton Cottage, but now that she was Mrs. Brandon, she had again available to her some of the finest horses in the entire county. Her beloved mare, Athena, was saddled and waiting beside Leopold, Christopher's most favored and boldest stallion.

With Christopher's assistance, she settled onto her mare, stroking her neck lovingly and whispering her affections in the horse's flickering chestnut ears. Climbing onto his own horse with flawless ease, Christopher sat astride in perfect form, gathering the reigns as the animal beneath him impatiently skirted about. "There, Leopold," he soothed in his deep baritone, handling the horse with just the right amount of strength. "Shall we?" he intoned chivalrously to his wife, who nodded with a smile. And so with great merriment and high spirits, the party set off for the intended spot some two miles away. The path through gentle rolling hills was easy to follow, and a feeling of great contentment settled upon every member of the jolly family. It was sure to be an afternoon to remember.


	2. An Important Question

From her vantage point on the crisp grasses of the embankment, Marianne could not help but smile as Christopher as he patiently fished alongside Margaret beside the wide ambling brook. She chattered like a little bird, begging for stories of the Colonel's time in the West Indies and responding in wonder and awe as he told her of his adventures.

"Christopher is certainly wonderful with children," Elinor remarked casually, watching her sister carefully.

"Yes," Marianne readily agreed, taking her eyes off of her husband's fine form for the first time in several long moments. "Although Margaret is hardly a child any longer, you know. I must admit that I'm anxious to see how he will take to his duties as an uncle."

Elinor glowed even brighter, if such a thing was possible, just to think about her happy condition. Her hands went instantly to her stomach, and the sisters shared a tender look. "He will be wonderful with children," Elinor said with a smile.

"As will Edward," Marianne was quick to mention. Edward was occupied with Mrs. Dashwood's pleasant conversation a few feet away, nodding on occasion and doing his best not to look completely ill at ease. He loved and respected his mother-in-law as any proper son-in-law should, even more so after his true family's coldness and cruel behavior. But there were still times when she utterly intimidated him. Whatever she was speaking on was certainly making him uncomfortable, if Elinor was not mistaken, but she felt fairly confident that he could manage himself for a few more moments. She was enjoying the time she could spend with Marianne. They had always been close, despite their differences in temperament. Their private conversations, though fewer and farther between now that they were both happily wed, were always to be looked forward to and cherished.

"Yes, Edward will be a wonderful father. That is one of the qualities I noticed in him right away. He has tenderness for every living thing that I think will be amplified with children." That was what made Edward so suited for his profession as a clergyman. Not only was his faith true and strong, but he had a desire to help those that could not help themselves in whatever small ways he could. Marianne had not understood him at first; she had found him plain and without any endearing features. The past two years had instilled in her greater wisdom, and now she was able to see just how great his good qualities, of which there were many, were.

"Have you given any thought to naming the baby?" Marianne asked excitedly, giving into the urge to sprawl atop the large soft quilt on her stomach in a most unladylike fashion, propping her elbows up and cupping her chin in her hands as she gazed up at Elinor.

Her sister smiled slyly down at her, amused that despite the maturation Marianne had exhibited, she still gave into such free spirited urges. "We have not talked on the matter extensively, Marianne, but I have some thoughts. If it is a boy, I should prefer to give him Edward's name, but Edward suggests we give him the name of our father."

"That is a very touching sentiment," Marianne said seriously, glancing at Edward with affection in her eyes. "Perhaps you could give your baby boy both names."

"Yes," Elinor agreed with a brief nod. "But if it is a girl, I should very much like to have her named for you, sister."

"Me?" Marianne gasped, truly surprised. "Elinor, don't you dare do any such thing!"

"Why ever not, Marianne? I could think of nothing better, and Edward readily agrees."

"Elinor," the younger woman sighed, dropping her head to rest it on her arm. "With you and Edward as her parents, your daughter, or son, perhaps, will be the most amiable, level-headed child to ever walk God's green earth. You cannot think of naming such a delightful child after a woman who was foolish enough in life to nearly ruin her chances for love and happiness twice before the age of twenty."

"Do not speak so harshly on your perceived faults, dearest," Elinor urged, her gentle blue eyes filled with concern. "Whatever do you mean that you nearly ruined your chances for happiness twice?"

The answer came easily enough to Marianne's lips. "First, when I nearly gave my heart over to Willoughby. I thought myself so in love with him, blinded as I was by my impulses and my strange sensibilities."

Naturally Elinor knew well what her sister spoke of. She had been very much involved, like nearly everyone else present, in that particular affair. "And the second?" she pressed.

"Second, I almost failed to realize my true feelings for Christopher. I let myself be influenced by my great dislike of everyone's attempted matchmaking, and I nearly dismissed him from my thoughts entirely."

Elinor nodded slowly, trying to understand Marianne's regrets of the past. "Marianne, you cannot blame yourself for something you _almost_ did. Whatever your reasons for past actions, the fact remains that you made the correct choices. You did not ruin your chances for love and happiness, and therefore you simply cannot despair over those choices that were not made."

Marianne let her wise sister's words sink in, thinking on them with extreme care. "You are right, as always, Elinor," she finally conceded with a gentle half smile.

"Marianne!" Elinor started, glancing down at her rounded belly.

"What is it?" Marianne questioned fearfully, sitting up at once.

"Do not be alarmed. I assure you I am well. It is just that the baby is moving." They smiled in wonder and delight at one another, and immediately Marianne placed her hands on top of Elinor's.

"Oh!" she gasped softly, feeling the quickening movements of her sister's unborn child. "Elinor, oh Elinor, how wonderful! Edward! Edward, come quickly!" Edward and Mrs. Dashwood glanced in their direction, and in a moment Elinor's husband hastened to his wife's side. "Place your hands here, Edward," Marianne gently directed. Edward seemed to know what was happening and was more than delighted to place his hands beside Elinor's and Marianne's.

"Certainly a tenacious little thing, is it not?" he questioned dryly, smiling into his wife's eyes.

"How very uncharacteristic," Marianne teased. "Perhaps it would be a wise decision to name her Marianne after all." The sisters laughed while Edward watched them quizzically, not privy to the conversation just held.

"So the two of you have decided on a name, then?" he gently quipped, smiling crookedly. "That's a relief, for I've begun to wonder if I'd be able to convince Elinor of a suitable name."

"Oh, Edward, I would never dream of interfering," Marianne laughed. "You can decide to name your child Alonso or Wilhelmina, for all I care, and I would never say a word!"

"I would be tempted to complain," Mrs. Dashwood called from a little ways off, sending the group laughing once more.

Alongside the brook, Christopher had turned to observe his wife and relatives. He was a little far off to hear what they spoke of, but one look at his wife's glorious shining face was enough to make his heart sing. He watched her curiously, her lithe fingers placed upon her sister's belly. Thoughts of fatherhood found him and he could not but smile. His Marianne would be such a lovely mother, always wreathed in smiles and full of song for the babes he hoped they would raise. His happiness was complete with her at his side; children would add to such a perfect happiness twice fold, a feat nearly impossible to imagine.

Margaret seemed content where she was, sitting cross-legged in a tomboy fashion on the smooth stones of the bank. Leaving her for the moment, he carefully approached the rest of the party.

"Christopher, are you finished so soon?" Marianne asked, turning to look at him without removing her hands.

"The fish are not being very cooperative for me today, I'm afraid," he rejoined, his words followed by the soft laughter of the rest. "Margaret is practically stripping the stream bare of all its aquatic life." Noticing that all eyes were suddenly upon her, Margaret waved vivaciously to her family, gesturing the basket that sat beside her that was no doubt filled with all the fish she had caught. "Like all Dashwood ladies, Margaret is a quick learner and more than able to accomplish what she sets out to do."

The ladies all smiled at his compliment. Elinor watched carefully the strange, expressive look that was next shared between Christopher and his wife. "I wonder, Mrs. Brandon, if you would join me for a stroll?" Marianne grinned unabashedly, nodding her agreement. Reluctantly she pulled her hands away from Elinor's rounded waist, but not before dropping a quick kiss upon it.

"Goodbye, little one," she said sweetly. "Do be good to your mother while I'm away." Christopher's extended hand was quickly accepted by his enthusiastic wife, and he tucked it tenderly into the crook of his arm

"We shall not be long," he told the rest of the party, who politely nodded and averted their eyes. All, that is, except for Elinor, who continued to watch them as they strolled pleasantly away.

"They make a striking couple," she remarked to Edward and Mrs. Dashwood, smiling gently. "I confess it brings my heart great joy to see them both so happy."

"There was a time that I was not certain that Marianne would ever find happiness," Mrs. Dashwood admitted, shaking her head slowly. "If only your father were here to see all of you so happy and so well off in the world."

Elinor nodded, patting her mother's hand. That, she supposed, was one of the few things that could make their lives sweeter. As it was, she was sure that he watched over his wife and daughters with great diligence, seeing to their happiness from whatever blissful paradise he dwelt in.

Christopher Brandon could not take his eyes away from his radiant wife. Inspired by a beautiful wild rose they had passed, Marianne was reciting dramatically some obscure poem he had never heard before. He scarcely registered her words, so enchanted was he by the glow in her cerulean eyes, or the gentle smile that remained on her soft rosy lips. She laughed at herself, a most charming sound, and turned her glowing eyes up to him.

"Miss Marianne, did you know that you could charm the fairies from wherever their hide?" Christopher asked her with a raised eyebrow. "All of nature seems to respond to your pleasant voice."

She laughed again, shaking her head in amusement. "If I had the power to charm fairies out of hiding, I should be sorely tempted to fly away with them to their fairy court. Then you would be without a wife and I would be without a sane thought in my head. It is for the best, I think, that I have not that power, Christopher."

"When you put it that way, I am certain you are right," he acquiesced, leading her away from the meandering path and nearer to a massive and tall aging tree. Its mighty roots burst forth from the soft earth near the babbling brook's embankment, creating a rather large natural bench of sorts.

They sat together side by side, Marianne's gaze directed to the meandering waters. Christopher tried unsuccessfully to follow suit, but soon enough he found himself watching her intently. "Marianne," he interrupted after several minutes of unbroken silence, "may I ask you a question?"

Turning her head to meet his gaze, she regarded him strangely. "Christopher, you needn't ask such a thing. Of course you may ask me a question. You may ask me anything you like."

He smiled, but it did not quite reach his eyes. "Marianne, what do you think about having children some day?" Her eyes grew wide, discouraging Christopher immensely. "I do not mean to distress you, my darling, but--"

Shaking her head quickly, Marianne was swift to interrupt. "I'm sorry, Christopher. You mistake my surprise. Of course it is not distressing. It is a subject that is paramount, I believe, to our future happiness."

It was now his eyes that widened, though confusion shone more brightly than surprise there. "I'm not making myself very clear, am I," she murmured apologetically. "More than anything else in the world, I want to be mother to your children, Christopher Brandon," she assured him solemnly, even sweetly. His sigh of relief was deep and audible, and he squeezed her little hand that was enclosed by his larger one. "I am surprised that you did not realize my feelings on the matter," she finished, explaining her initial reaction to his question.

In fact, she was still greatly surprised to realize they had never spoken of having children of their own. Her husband was many years her senior, though not enough to be considered old or elderly. Perhaps had she thought on it more, she would have wondered if he truly desired to sire children when he had so recently ended his bachelor's life of 38 years. She had always assumed that he, like almost all other men in their right minds, would desire an heir to the Brandon name and fortune.

Doubt was clouding her eyes. She could sense her husband's relief at her answer, but she needed to hear his own thoughts voiced clearly. "And you, Christopher? What are your thoughts on children?"

He laughed aloud, joy suffusing across his features. "I can imagine nothing sweeter than a handful of children with their mother's enchanting eyes and brilliant spirit."

"And their father's graceful form and noble character," she added, feeling the same joy she saw so evident on her husband's face.

"Oh, Marianne!" he cried happily, gathering her into his arms for a tight embrace. "I do not deserve such happiness."

"Oh, yes you do," she laughed into his shoulder, soft and willing as his fingers grasped her little chin and drew her face up to meet his kiss. It was warm and gentle, deepening with each passing moment and filled with promises of the future.

When it ended, Marianne did not even pause to draw breath before whispering in wicked delight, "We shall simply have to redouble our efforts to sire offspring."

Christopher threw his head back and burst into laughter. "Wicked thing," he teased, rising and pulling her up with him. "But I must say it is a very agreeable plan."

"And most practical," she added.

"Very practical," he agreed, clasping her hand as he led her back to the path. "We must return to your family, Miss Marianne, so as not to alarm them. But I promise you that when we return home, ere long we shall follow this plan of yours most faithfully."

"Very good, Colonel, lead on," she returned solemnly, giving him another mock salute. Their laughter preceded them as they happily wound their way back to their waiting family.


	3. Calm Before the Storm

**AU: Thank you all for your wonderfully encouraging reviews. This next chapter was completed well over a week ago, but I've been holding off because it brings with it quite a change of direction for the story. I hope you can all stick with me and tell me what you think. Don't panic just yet; love is only stronger when it is tested! So without further ado...

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That evening, Elinor subtly watched Marianne and Colonel Brandon throughout the duration of a charming meal. The small but lively group had all been gathered into the formal dining room following their long afternoon away, their number expanded slightly with the arrival of Sir John Middleton and his ever lively mother-in-law, Mrs. Jennings. As the host and hostess of the evening, the pair was obliged to sit at the opposing heads of the table. The distance that separated them was extremely unpleasant to both, Elinor was quick to observe, growing increasingly aware of the shared glances the husband and wife were often casting one another.

Whenever one spoke, the other was sure to pay rapt attention. When Marianne laughed aloud, Christopher watched in obvious enchantment, and when Christopher amiably took part in any of the shifting conversations, his Marianne was careful to hang upon his every word, admiration radiating from every bit of her being. Elinor was truly pleased. At last, it appeared that her sister had learnt at least in some part the _true_ meaning of love. Love was not always burning passion and euphoric joy. Often it was much softer, more gentle and subtle than a fleeting breeze, and yet more powerful than any other force that could be imagined. So she had discovered with Edward, and so now Marianne was discovering with Christopher.

"I would have joined you all this afternoon," Sir John was proclaiming loudly, tearing with his knife and fork into his meat with no pretense of manners. "Except that two of my best pointers are ill, the poor things." Mrs. Jennings nodded emphatically, hastily swallowing and flapping her hands all the while.

"Yes, it is really rather unfortunate!" she added the moment she could speak again, setting her cutlery down loudly. "But the doctor was sent for right away, and Cook prepared a most sumptuous feast for them. I daresay they shall be well again within another day or so." Marianne, who sat just beside her, took a sip of cool punch, smiling amusedly behind her glass. There was a time that Marianne would have perhaps shuddered to spend an evening in the unorthodox woman's company, but she had grown fond of the lady despite her constant antics. Now that Marianne was a married woman, she was at least free from Mrs. Jennings' matchmaking schemes.

There were some sympathetic comments murmured around the room, and it was clear that Margaret was the one most affected by Sir John's sick animals. She looked truly forlorn at his announcement, though Mrs. Jennings did cheer her some. "I do hope they will get better soon," the young woman piped up sincerely. Sir John chortled affectionately and Mrs. Jennings cooed over her sweet sentiment. It was no secret that Margaret dearly loved the strange pair, though her mother still oft times feared that their occasional disregard for manners would affect her youngest girl.

"Yes, they shall rally again," Christopher agreed wholeheartedly, raising his glass in a toast. "To your dogs, Sir John," he said solemnly, a wry grin belying his humor.

"To the dogs!" the table echoed as everyone raised their glass, laughing softly at their strange toast. Long after the toast had been finished, Marianne's bright smile did not fade. She was utterly charmed by her husband's dry wit, something she had only begun to discover just before their wedding. He was often quiet by nature, seeking to never draw too much attention to himself or to offend the good graces of any of his acquaintances. And yet in those moments when he was surrounded by those he loved, especially when he and Marianne were wonderfully alone together, the true playfulness of his nature shone through. It was startling at times, as it had been earlier in the day, but nevertheless always truly enjoyable and deeply cherished by his adoring wife.

"Now, my dear," Mrs. Jennings began again animatedly, her attention directed to the demure Elinor. "How are you finding married life? Still as wonderful as ever, I do hope? Well, of course it is. Just look at you, fast approaching the day when another little Ferrars will join you. I see that your lovely sister and her husband are quite happy too, as I knew well they would be. Yes, you look almost as happy as my Charlotte, bless her heart. She is with child again, you know."

Elinor smiled gently, nodding politely. Everyone present had heard at least a dozen times or more that Mrs. Jennings' daughter, Charlotte, and her husband were to have a baby by the winter. Marianne glanced meaningfully at Elinor, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly. They shared their thoughts wordlessly; both had some experience with Charlotte and her husband, and agreed that they were simply one of the most poorly matched couples of their acquaintance. How brusque Mr. Palmer would react to another child was quite a curious thing to the sisters. When the Palmers visited again, they would each observe with no little interest.

The dinner was ended and the whole party moved to the drawing room where there was more than enough room for everyone to make themselves quite comfortable. Sir John singled out Christopher immediately, drawing him toward the blazing flames of the grand fireplace and launching swiftly into a discussion of war and politics, though dogs did somehow enter their conversation now and again. Mrs. Dashwood was likewise singled out by Mrs. Jennings, and the two women rested upon a sofa deep in conversation. Margaret drew near them, eager to listen in on whatever gossip the rotund and amiable Mrs. Jennings was sure to discuss.

"I would call this little party of yours a singular success," Edward told Marianne pleasantly as he, his wife and sister-in-law went to the opposite side of the room, lingering near the beautiful pianoforte that Marianne loved so dearly.

"The praise belongs to Christopher," Marianne replied, glancing lingeringly at him where he stood by the fire. "He would never accept such praise, but the truth is that he is the most efficient party planner I have ever known." The trio laughed softly, their conversation drifting to the future and plans for Edward and Elinor with the imminent arrival of their child. The topic of a name was broached again, and Marianne teased them mercilessly, suggesting terrible name after terrible name, each one determinedly worse than the previous.

"I look forward to the day we speculate on your children, Marianne," Elinor remarked rather dryly, though there was considerable humor shining in her soft eyes. "We shall have to devise some interesting names for you then."

"Marianne!" Mrs. Jennings interrupted from across the room, waving at her. "Marianne, my dear, you simply must entertain us on that marvelous instrument of yours. It has been nearly two weeks since I have been privileged to hear that sweet voice of yours and I simply insist you give me the pleasure of hearing it now."

"Of course, Mrs. Jennings. I should be delighted to." Marianne smiled good-naturedly and graciously went to the pianoforte. In a moment the sweet, passionate tones of her voice filled the room, adding warmth and life. It never took much persuasion to entice Marianne to perform. Music was her life and passion, as it had been since her childhood.

Christopher turned from the fireplace, vaguely aware that his friend was continuing to chat away animatedly. Yet his full attention was now fully on the angel seated at the pianoforte, and to his eyes there was never a more beautiful sight. This did not escape the notice of Elinor and Mrs. Dashwood, and after a moment even Mrs. Jennings saw with no small amount of satisfaction Colonel Brandon's spellbound gaze.

"Ah, Mrs. Dashwood," she drawled contentedly, settling further back into the sofa, "it does please my old heart to see the Colonel and your Marianne so happily settled. I knew right away that they would be a splendid match, though it took your daughter some time to come to her senses, I daresay." Mrs. Dashwood smiled bemusedly, knowing that the talkative woman meant no offense. And in her way, she certainly had proven most correct on the matter.

The evening wound to a close and with warm farewells the party dispersed. Elinor and Edward, living very nearby, were the last to leave. The sisters embraced, wreathed in smiles. "I shall see you again very soon," Marianne promised. In truth, scarcely two days went by when Elinor and Marianne did not see one another in some way. For the time being, each was eager to join their husbands, and so their goodbye was brief.

Waving goodbye to them at the drive, Marianne sighed aloud, suddenly feeling rather weary from a day so pleasantly spent. She felt rather than saw her husband draw close, and his arm wrapped around her waist as he escorted her back inside their beautiful home. Harrison stood at the door, smoothly shutting it behind them as they leisurely passed by. Marianne was prepared to return to the drawing room to finish the evening but was stopped as her husband gently guided her beyond its doors. "I have waited far too long to have you to myself," he murmured warmly, prompting her to laugh happily.

"Our plans await, I suppose?" she grinned, and with a wicked chuckle he quickened his pace, dragging the giggling Marianne behind him.

"It is a very important plan, Madam, and I see no reason in delaying it," was his teasing reply.

"Once a military man, always a military man," she laughed. Their plan was put into effect very shortly after.

* * *

The morning dawned warm and bright, soft shafts of sunlight shimmering through the tall windows of the bedroom. Wrapped in Christopher's arms, Marianne awoke slowly, a soft smile accompanying her sigh of contentment. She stretched languidly, and at length her eyes fluttered open. She slowly turned to gaze on her husband's peaceful face.

He was deeply asleep and Marianne did not wish to disturb him. She felt so invigorated, so full of life this morning, she could hardly contain herself. Eager to embrace the morning, she slipped from his warm embrace and hastily drew on a pale blue morning dress.

She did not bother to ring for her maid, deciding she'd prepare to greet the day more fully a little later, after she enjoyed a brisk walk through Delaford's vast grounds. Binding her hair into a simple chignon, she all but ran from the room, pausing only to place a soft kiss on her sleeping husband's brow before leaving.

The day was as fine as she had anticipated, with a sky so clear and blue it seemed to stretch on forever. Smiling to an elderly gardener, Marianne wasted no time in journeying beyond the well kept gardens and out onto the rolling hills. Some things never changed, and Marianne's unquenchable thirst for nature and all its beauty was one of those things.

Her walk continued for some duration, taking her far enough that Delaford house was no longer visible. Pausing on the crest of a hill, she took in one last view of her emerald surroundings and prepared to return home and, with much anticipation, to her husband's side. Turning around and beginning to descend, she was startled to find that a horse and rider had approached, silently ambling toward her up the hill. Ready to slip past them, she turned to smile a friendly greeting up to the passing rider but suddenly found herself frozen.

It was no stranger that mounted the horse beyond her. Eyes wide, lips parted in shock, she could only stare as none other than John Willoughby climbed down from his horse, smiling broadly as he came towards her.

* * *

Christopher had awoken to find that he was quite alone, and with a lengthy sigh he forced himself out of bed. He could not help his disappointment at discovering Marianne already up and gone, but he knew full and well she would return soon enough. He could guess where she had gone; on a walk, through the gardens and over the hills, as she often did. His valet attended him, and within a few minutes Christopher was descending the stairs, eager to enjoy breakfast with his wife, as per their usual morning custom.

So it was that his disappointment grew when he did not find Marianne waiting to join him for breakfast. With a perplexed frown, he forced himself to take up his waiting newspaper, perusing its contents blindly. When Harrison entered the room, Christopher set down the paper with a flourish, turning in his chair to face the old butler.

"Harrison, good morning," he greeted solemnly. "Have you seen Mrs. Brandon about?"

"Mrs. Brandon left for a walk nearly an hour ago, sir," was the crisp reply as Harrison took the paper away that Christopher handed to him.

"If you please, sir," Harrison spoke again, interrupting his master's straying thoughts. "I do not wish to alarm you, but I was informed a moment ago that one of the servants returning from the village on an errand saw a man on horseback riding across the property. He assured me it was probably nothing, but I thought it best to inform you."

The Colonel frowned, staring intently at Harrison. "Did he give you a description of the man?"

"Yes, sir," Harrison nodded. "A young gentleman, dark hair, dark horse. I believe the man's exact words were 'a sprightly, handsome man if I ever saw one.'"

Christopher started, rising violently from the chair. "And in what direction was this rider heading?"

"Why, I believe across the hills, sir. I assumed he was leaving the property entirely."

"Have one of the footmen saddle Leopold immediately," Christopher ordered in a brisk, dark voice before striding from the room. Realization dawned on the old butler as he located a footman and conveyed the Colonel's command. If the stranger was riding for the hills, he would likely cross paths with Mrs. Brandon. Berating himself for not thinking of such a thing earlier, he was harsher with the footman than was necessary, ordering him to gather a few men to join Colonel Brandon.

For his part, the next brief few minutes were utter agony for Christopher. He ran for the stables, ignoring the startled looks of servants he rushed past. His thoughts were only for Marianne; perhaps he was behaving irrationally, but his heart and mind worked together to warn him that something was amiss. The description relayed by Harrison matched a certain figure of his past impeccably, and Christopher would be damned before he let John Willoughby anywhere near his wife ever again.

His horse was swiftly prepared for him. He swung onto the beast's back and prepared to gallop away, but he was stopped by McTavish, one of the footmen in his employ. "Colonel Brandon, we're riding with you," the young Irishman called, riding up beside him on a dark chestnut horse. Four other footmen were saddling horses with great haste, but Christopher could not bear to wait for them.

"I shall ride over the hills to the east of the gardens," he called over his shoulder, biting out a command to his horse and riding away with a prayer in his heart. _Dear God, let her be safe. Let this all be the irrational behavior of an old man concerned for the woman he loves. God in Heaven, just let me find her._


	4. An Unwanted Encounter

AN: Please don't kill the author. Words cannot begin to express how sorry I am for taking over a year--a _year_--to update. I never knew that writer's block could last so very long. While I'm still not completely satisfied with this chapter, I felt it was more important to keep the story going than to wait for perfection to come. I am going to try to update this story as regularly as possible, though with the way my semester is going I can't make any promises. Thank you for all of your encouraging reviews and please let me know what you think! I am always open to comments, suggestions, etc. Happy reading!

* * *

Marianne was rarely speechless. She almost always had something to say, some opinion or comment to add to a conversation, even a greeting or a farewell when the occasion called for it. Now, however, with a cool breeze blowing and the tall grass gently folding around her, she stood completely still, utterly dumbfounded. John Willoughby strode toward her, smiling pleasantly, as though he were merely a friendly neighbor come over for an impromptu visit. Outrage was bubbling up within her, overcoming the initial surprise of his most unexpected appearance.

How _dare_ he? How could he possibly imagine himself welcome anywhere near her or her beloved Delaford? He, who had stolen her heart and then coldly returned it to bleed within her for the sake of fortune and a life of ease, was not welcome in her company anymore, no matter what feelings she had once harbored for him. They were gone, overpowered and overwhelmed by the all encompassing love she had found for her Christopher.

"You shouldn't be here." At last she found her voice. Her words were passionate and adamant, reflecting that fiery spirit Willoughby had once claimed to cherish. "I suggest you leave at once. My husband will not take kindly to you trespassing on his land." She was careful to emphasize the word 'husband,' pointedly reminding him that she was, quite happily, a married woman now.

But Willoughby had never been one for rules and decorum. In fact, he seemed to hear very little of the obvious warning in Marianne's words. As he had been a hundred times before, he was helplessly taken in by her beauty, fascinated by the way the sunlight set her golden hair aflame and by the delicate blush of her fair skin. "Marianne," he breathed, his smile brightening. "I would never have thought it possible, but you have only grown more beautiful with the passing time. I am, as ever, enchanted."

"Yes, I'm sure that you are," she replied scathingly, clenching her hands at her side. "Did you not hear a word that I said? I have asked you to leave, but now I am _telling_ you. Leave, Willoughby. I don't want you here."

He had the audacity to look confused. Marianne took in his wounded countenance in a glance, all too aware of the face that had once seemed so handsome to her. His hair was as dark and rakish and unruly as she remembered it, his dark eyes smoldering with knowledge and passion, and his lips, turned now into a frown, were as expressive as ever. It was strange, though—he was certainly a handsome man, but not to her, not any longer. No doubt he could still catch the eye of many a female, but to this particular female he was no longer eye-catching at all. He was a vision of her past and nothing more.

It was becoming clear that he would not be the first to leave. Either he was too dimwitted to hear a word she was saying, she thought angrily, or he was determined to rile her further. Straightening her back and raising her chin into the air, she marched determinedly past him, moving at a clipped pace with every intention of returning to her home and her husband.

Marianne was fast, but Willoughby was faster. Finally pulling free from his temporary stupor, he rushed after her, planting himself squarely in front of her path. "Marianne," he begged, desperation evident in his voice, "please hear me out. I have come not just to see you, but to apologize to you. All that I ask is for a moment to do so."

Left with little choice, she drew to a halt, folding her arms impatiently and tapping a foot on the rumpled grass beneath her. "Well?" she demanded hotly, offering him this one chance to say what he had to say so she could finally quit his presence with all the righteous indignation she desired and a clean conscience to accompany it.

He faltered momentarily, running a hand raggedly through his hair. "I hurt you," he finally began, stating the obvious in a way that Marianne had little patience for. She fought the urge to roll her eyes in a most unladylike fashion, waiting for him to finish.

"I hurt you, and for that I can never, ever expect to find forgiveness. I was…careless of your feelings, of my feelings, careless of all feeling, you could say. Think what you will of me, dear Marianne"—she glared sternly—"Very well, dear Mrs. Brandon, then. Think what you will of me, but do not think for one moment that I did not love you. I did, in fact, love you to the depths of my being, and as long as I live, I shall never love any other as I have loved you."

In the silence that followed his passionate apology, though it was really a declaration rather than an apology, Marianne realized her mistake. She shouldn't have given him the opportunity to speak so frankly to her, even if he had proclaimed his intention was only to apologize. He would expect some sort of a response from her now, and while she still burned with anger at his total lack of judgment by choosing to confront her in this manner, she was somewhat reluctant to deliver the final blow that would send him on his way. She was not a cruel woman, though at times her rash behavior could make it appear so.

"Mr. Willoughby," she began, finding it difficult to look him in the eye. "I…thank you for your apology. Let me assure you that I have moved on from our brief…courtship, and am now quite happy in the course my life has taken. I wish you luck in all your endeavors, and, of course, extend that same wish for happiness to your wife, Mrs. Willoughby."

There. That would have to do. Freed of any sense of obligation now, Marianne was determined to flee from his presence at once and to seek out the comfort she knew Christopher could provide her. He would know how to help her calm her temper, though she feared greatly his reaction once he learned that Willoughby had been on his property and confronting his wife.

She was held back, however, when Willoughby reached out to grasp her arm, his touch gentle but insistent. Her blue eyes were positively glacial now; she bestowed upon him such a furious glare that it could have halted Napoleon himself in his tracks, but Willoughby seemed oblivious. There was a deadly calm in his eyes, a determination that was becoming increasingly alarming to her.

"There is no Mrs. Willoughby." That couldn't possibly be correct. What sort of lies was he spinning now? "She left me, Marianne. She left me when she realized that I was still in love with you."

Why, _why_ was he telling her this? Did he think she would simply throw her arms around his neck and cry out for joy? Did he truly believe he would be welcomed back into her heart, as though the past two years had never happened at all?

She swallowed loudly, jerking free from his grasp. "There may no longer be a Mrs. Willoughby, sir, but I am still Mrs. Brandon. There is nothing that can change that." In the distance Marianne thought she heard the approach of thundering horses, but the fury that roared in her ears took precedence over any other sound. Again she turned to leave him, and once again she was physically stopped when Willoughby reached out to her. He took her by her shoulders, whirling her to face him. His lips were swooping down on hers before she could register his intentions.

He kissed her, briefly, before she had presence of mind to push him away, but the damage was done. For no sooner had his lips touched hers than Colonel Brandon and his horse crested a nearby hill, a handful of mounted footmen not far behind him.

Nothing, _nothing_ could have prepared him for what he beheld. _His_ Marianne, preyed upon, touched, _kissed_ by that bastard Willoughby, and on his own land! It was fortunate he had not thought to bring a pistol along with him. As his fears were so terribly confirmed before his very eyes, there was little holding back the pure possessive rage that filled him.

Willoughby caught sight of him, holding his ground as Marianne ran to her husband. Colonel Brandon rapidly dismounted, racing to meet her and gathering her tightly into his arms. He embraced her fiercely, feeling some of his fear melt away. She was, after all, unharmed. He kissed her swiftly on top of her golden hair, all too aware of the angry and humiliated tears flowing from her eyes. No explanation was needed. He knew precisely what had happened, and by God, he was going to see matters set to right.

Handing her to young McTavish, he moved with powerful steps to approach Willoughby. The younger man faced the Colonel bravely, a characteristic smirk appearing at the corner of his mouth. "What, Brandon?" he taunted, apparently unaware of the very real danger he was in from Christopher's searing wrath. "Are you going to call the guard on me? Going to rally your troops and lead the attack? It was only a kiss, old man, one given to accompany the apology I--"

Colonel Brandon's fist met Willoughby's jaw, thrown with enough force to send the dark haired man reeling backwards before tumbling to the ground. Marianne gasped from where she stood, held securely in the arms of wise McTavish, who knew that, given the chance, she would have rushed to her husband's side in a heartbeat. Willoughby stared up at Colonel Brandon in awe, rubbing his chin and feeling the warmth of blood on his fingertips from his split lip.

"You are a scoundrel, John Willoughby," Colonel Brandon declared darkly from where he stood. "You are a seducer of innocents, a spoilt, insolent little whelp who doesn't know the beginning of the respect due to women, especially one as lovely and unequaled as _my wife_."

Willoughby was openly glaring now, unmoving as Colonel Brandon continued. "Now, heed this warning: Do not _ever_ approach my wife again. If you so much as think about her within five miles of us, I shall see to it that you regret your decision for the rest of your life." Finished with him, the Colonel turned on his heels and returned to his Marianne, taking her back into his arms and guiding her gently to his horse.

"McTavish, see that this man is escorted off my lands. Inform the staff that if he is ever seen anywhere near or within Delaford, he is to be removed with all due haste and taken immediately to the local magistrate." The footman nodded briskly, signaling to two of his fellows to help him in following out their employer's orders.

Colonel Brandon saw to it that Marianne was not made to watch the removal of the trespasser, assisting her into the saddle and swinging up behind her, drawing a protective arm around her and grasping the reins with his free hand. They immediately rode for Delaford House, silence encompassing them.

For Marianne, the silence was as comforting and reassuring as Christopher's arms around her. She could feel the tension in him, how his jaw clenched so tightly and how rigidly he sat behind her. He was fighting valiantly to control his ire, wanting to spare his wife any more unpleasantness over the entire matter. Normally she would have abhorred being treated so delicately, like one of the many simpering females she knew who lived and breathed to be pampered and coddled. In this moment, however, she was entirely grateful for his thoughtful care and his quiet strength.

"You are my knight in shining armor." She broke the silence at last, just as their home came into view. "I didn't know he would be there. I didn't--"

Christopher tightened his arm around her, bending his head to kiss the corner of her mouth. "I know," he assured her, his voice deep and tired. "I know you, Marianne. You are not the kind of woman who rushes off for a secret rendezvous under her husband's very nose. I trust you completely." He felt her release a nervous breath and relax further into his arms.

"However, I also know Willoughby," he continued, a dark tone threading his voice. "He is exactly the sort of man to force himself on a married woman, even one he scorned and left with a broken heart!"

"A heart that you so graciously mended," Marianne reminded him quietly.

They had arrived at the house, met by Harrison and a footman who led the horse back to the stables as Colonel and Mrs. Brandon went inside, hand in hand. Christopher informed Harrison that he would meet with him shortly to discuss the morning's event, then ushered Marianne into the drawing room. Shutting the doors firmly behind them, he saw that she was settled onto a couch before abruptly striding away from her and over to the fireplace.

His hands gripped the mantel, his head inclined as he struggled to collect his thoughts. The outrage was still there, still eating away at him as he thought of all that could have happened between his wife of six months and Willoughby had he not arrived in time to put an end to it. To think of his wife's rosebud mouth being poisoned with an unwanted kiss by that scoundrel was enough to drive him mad.

Marianne's gentle hand on his shoulder reminded him that she was still in the room, and he turned to find her standing beside him with deep concern shining in her beautiful eyes. Without a second thought he gathered her tightly against him, kissing her deeply and passionately to wipe away any trace of Willoughby's unworthy kiss. She returned his passion, wanting the very same thing as he did; to replace something vile and abhorrent with something she treasured above all else.

He forced himself to stop, though he kept her wrapped in his embrace. "Marianne, I was so frightened," he confessed huskily, his hand gently guiding her golden head to rest against his chest. "Harrison told me that a man had been seen on the grounds and I knew, somehow I _knew_ it was him. The thoughts that filled my mind then..."

"I wasn't frightened." Her voice was muffled against his chest, so she leaned her head back and repeated herself. "I wasn't frightened. I was angry and bewildered, but all along I knew that you were nearby. It was enough to chase away any fears that might have seized upon me." Rising onto her toes, she placed a quick kiss on his lips, throwing her arms around his neck. "How could I ever long for the kiss of another when I have all of your wonderful kisses to look forward to?"

Christopher was feeling some of his good humor return. "What, you don't think that a younger man's kiss might be more suitable for an angel such as yourself?"

"Don't be foolish," she chided him, and kissed him again, much more thoroughly this time, to prove her point. "There now." She struggled to bring her breathing under control, grinning up at him. "Do you really think that any other man, regardless of his age, could do so much justice to a kiss?"

"You flatter me," he laughed, impulsively scooping her up into her arms and smiling as her surprised laughter filled the room. Their conversation was far from over, as they were both well aware, but more pressing matters were suddenly appealing to them, such as their marvelous plan to welcome into the world more Brandon's as soon as possible.

Their plans would have to wait. They found this out shortly after Christopher strode to the door, only to find it opening apparently of its own volition. There stood Harrison, looking mortified that he had intruded on what was obviously an intimate moment. And to add to the entire scene, standing behind him and looking on with large eyes was Edward and Elinor, exchanging a glance with one another as Christopher hastily set Marianne down.

"Oh, I _do_ beg your pardon, sir," the flummoxed butler hastily apologized, at a complete loss as to how to proceed. "Mr. and Mrs. Edward Ferrars, sir. I had thought to show them into the drawing room, but now I see that…" He swallowed convulsively, looking for all the world like he had just betrayed his king and country. Marianne was struggling to contain her laughter, her lips twitching irreverently.

Surprisingly, she was not the first to break into laughter. Of all the likely candidates, it was Edward who failed to stifle a chuckle, and soon all but Harrison had joined him. Muttering his excuses, Harrison took leave of them, looking bewildered and slightly nonplussed as he hurried to another wing of the house entirely.

"Come inside," Marianne bid them, rushing to Elinor's side and taking her by the arm. "Poor Harrison! I've never seen a man more mortified!"

"Poor Harrison indeed," Christopher laughed, his only regret that he had to release Marianne from his arms. He joined Edward on the couch, adjacent to the loveseat the ladies were seated upon. His eyes never left the glowing countenance of his wife, even as Edward began to explain their visit.

"We understood there was some sort of…altercation."

"Yes," Elinor added, "We could see a mounted brigade of footmen ride off in the distance, and a passing gardener told us there was some sort of a trespasser. Is this true, Marianne?"

Marianne shared a glance with Christopher, wordlessly wondering if they should explain it fully to them. It wasn't that they wished to be dishonest, but in Elinor's present condition, Marianne was ever careful not to upset her. Still, it would be impossible to keep the truth of the matter from reaching her sister's ears, and when Marianne really thought about it, it would take more than startling news to upset her calm sister.

"It was Willoughby," she admitted.

"Willoughby?" Elinor was aghast. "Surely not. Why would Willoughby…" She needed only to think about upon it a moment more to understand what might have happened.

"He happened upon me while I was taking a walk, and told me he wanted to apologize."

"Happened upon you indeed," Christopher growled, feeling his anger return to him. "Waited to find you alone, more like it."

"And you sent him on his way?" Edward asked, looking to the Colonel for the answer.

"Oh, yes. Quite."

"He hit him," Marianne revealed.

"No!" Edward and Elinor exclaimed in unison.

"Well, he did deserve it. He tried to kiss me."

"Tried?" the Colonel exploded.

"Marianne!" Elinor gasped. "Why would Willoughby do such a thing? He was always passionate, to be sure, but I can't imagine him--"

"He told…he told me his wife had left him." Silence followed Marianne's words. Christopher looked absolutely livid. The color had drained away from his face, a slight tick barely noticeable in his clenched jaw as he rose from the couch and moved to stand before the fireplace. Both of the former Dashwood women watched him worriedly, while Edward tapped his fingers against his temple, also worried for his sister-in-law. There could be no mistaking the point of the man's visit when that fact was made light.

"Why didn't you tell me that?" Christopher demanded quietly, as though only he and Marianne were in the room.

"I was going to, of course, but it didn't come up."

"Do you have any idea what this means? This tells me he has designs far more serious than we thought."

"Oh, really, Christopher. Willoughby is foolish, but he's not dangerous. My virtue is not being threatened, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't make allusions that it was."

"But how do you know that? How can you be certain that's not _exactly_ what is at stake here? Don't forget my young ward, Marianne. When a man like Willoughby decides to go after something, there is very little that will stand in his way."

"Marianne," Elinor calmly interrupted, "it is perhaps best for us to assume the worst. I do not mean to frighten you, dearest, but the Colonel is right. Think about how he has treated you, how he has treated us all in the past. I would prefer not to think the worst in people, but his behavior today was really quite serious. A married man simply does not seek out a married woman like that."

"But that does not necessarily mean that I am in any danger, Elinor!" Marianne argued, exasperated with both her sister and her husband.

"Nevertheless, you must stay strictly to the gardens now, Marianne," the Colonel intoned solemnly.

Marianne was immediately on her feet. "You cannot be serious, Christopher!"

"Indeed I am, madam," was his only response.

"Willoughby would never be so foolish to try to approach me again! You know how I love to walk. Next I suppose you'll tell me that I am to stay strictly to my rooms in case he should decide to break into our home, as well?"

Edward and Elinor shared a nervous glance, well aware of the marital discord that was swiftly escalating. Though their natures were almost perfectly temperate in every way, they, too, had had their fair share of disagreements in their two years of marriage. Elinor had often wondered when Marianne and the Colonel would experience their first true argument. It was truly unfortunate that it should come occur over such a disturbing event.

"You cannot coddle me, Christopher!" Marianne asserted at her husband's determined look.

"I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe," he quietly informed her, his calm tone of voice only emphasizing how serious he was on the matter. "So long as John Willoughby resides in this county, we cannot take any chances. I should have known better than to have believed our troubles with him to be at an end."

Fighting tears of anger and frustration, Marianne stormed out of the room without another word. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Christopher was lost in his thoughts for some time. "I am sorry you had to see this," he sighed at length, running his hand over the mantle absentmindedly. "Marianne is both beautiful and charming, and she is of course very, very intelligent. But I fear that she is still very naïve. Despite Willoughby's despicable treatment of her, she still does not understand that some men are the worst sort of villains."

"But perhaps we are overreacting," Elinor said. "Willoughby may have hurt her with his cruelty, but he has never truly harmed her. I believe we are right to be cautious, but perhaps it is not necessary to…well, coddle her, as she said."

"Perhaps," Colonel Brandon allowed.

Edward, too, had been lost in thought since Marianne's departure. Leaving the couch to cautiously approach his brother-in-law, he paused to smile reassuringly at his wife. "I will be sure to keep an eye on things from my parish," he assured Christopher, standing beside him. "I will ask my parishioners to keep an eye out as well. Discreetly, of course."

Christopher nodded slowly, turning away to face his wife's beloved pianoforte. "Perhaps you should speak with Marianne," Elinor suggested, sending a wordless look to her husband.

"Yes, that might be for the best," Edward concurred as he collected his wife from the loveseat. "We shall make ourselves scare for the time being."

Nodding slowly, Christopher smiled weakly as the pair bid him farewell and left. Taking one final moment to collect himself, he too left the drawing room, determined to seek out wife and try to set things to right.


	5. Reconciliation

After a very thorough search of the entire house, Christopher found himself at a loss. It seemed his charming young wife had made it a point to disappear completely, and she had done it well. A dull ache settled inside his chest, tempered with regret over the morning's distressing event and his consequent argument with Marianne. He had reacted badly, he admitted; he had no desire to stifle Marianne and her passionate nature.

It was her unfettered spirit that had drawn him to her in the first place. Hardly suspecting that his life as he knew it was about to change forever, he had arrived at Barton Park some three years ago to the sound of an angel's song. There she had sat at the pianoforte singing with all her heart, a sound of such exquisite purity that the Colonel's heart had leapt painfully within him. How beautiful she had been, wholly unspoiled and blithely unaffected by the world at large.

At first, she had reminded him so very much of Eliza, the woman he had loved so deeply in his youth. He had watched Miss Marianne Dashwood subtly, at least as subtly as possible with the likes of Mrs. Jennings watching him so closely, and had seen in her the same love of life that Eliza had always exhibited. There was nothing beyond her reach, no dream that seemed unattainable.

And yet, he had found as their acquaintance had progressed that she was very different from Eliza, as well. Marianne's heart knew no bounds; Eliza, though he had no doubt that she had cared for him very much, had craved the thrill that love brought rather than the deep, powerful connection that love inevitably brought with it. Love had in many ways been only a novelty for thrill-seeking Eliza. Marianne had never treated the affliction of love with such triviality. To her, love was everything, and her belief had nearly sent her to an early grave after that monster Willoughby had…

Sighing heavily, he willed his troubled thoughts to cease, seeking for some semblance of calm. He was not a man given to extreme temper, but even he had his limits, especially where Marianne was involved. He loved her passionately; there was no denying that his love for her overrode all else. With that love came a natural need to protect her, and he still burned from Willoughby's callous treatment of her some two years before. To have him return _quite_ unbidden into their lives was difficult to contend with.

Unsure where to take himself next, Christopher found himself back in his wife's favorite drawing room, gazing forlornly at her precious Broadwood Grand, only one of many wedding presents he had gifted her. With Marianne still deliberately missing and with little but unhappy thoughts to occupy his mind, he drifted towards the magnificent instrument, seating himself at the bench.

His fingers hesitating over the keys, he soon began a simple, sad sonata, one he had learned many years ago when his father still lived. The haunting melody filled the room and resonated through a good portion of the house, an outward manifestation of the Colonel's current mood, and before long he could hear rapid footsteps approaching the drawing room from the hall beyond.

Instantly rising from the pianoforte, he turned expectantly towards the doors, sure that his Marianne was returning from her temporary exile, only to find the door hastily thrown open by Sir John Middleton. The stout man practically exploded into the room, Harrison fast on his heels and obviously agitated that yet another guest had dispensed with all decorum in his master's house. "Sir John Middleton, sir," he called out with a touch of dejection, bowing stiffly and swiftly making his exit.

"Brandon!" Sir John bellowed, meeting him in the middle of the room and completely ignorant of the momentary disappointment that had flitted across the Colonel's face. "Just heard the news, Brandon, just heard the news. Devil take him! That John Willoughby is a right bastard if you ask me. Trespassing on your land, making eyes at your wife all over again. I tell you, Brandon, had I been anywhere near at the time, I would have sent my dogs after him straightaway, do you hear? Straightaway!"

Christopher should have known that news of the morning's event would reach Sir John sooner rather than later. His old friend had a good deal of bluster in him, but it was oddly comforting to hear him vent his anger over Willoughby's unforgivable breach of conduct. There were too few in the world that could see through Sir John's strange, unaffected behavior to the man beneath. There wasn't a man that Christopher trusted more in this world or the next, and he almost—_almost_—felt sorry for one John Willoughby if Sir John Middleton ever did cross his path with his dogs in tow, at least if he were in such a fine fury as he was now.

"Aren't you outraged, man?" Sir John demanded, his face turning a patchy shade of red.

"I am livid, John," Christopher confirmed, though he did not raise his voice. Sir John knew him well enough to take him at his word. Colonel Brandon was a man of control, true, but he was also a man of flesh and blood. Sinking heavily into the chair closest by the fireplace, he gestured for Sir John to take the chair beside him.

"I hurried over as soon as I heard," Sir John told him, gripping the armrests of his chair. "I could hardly believe it at first. My poor mother-in-law nearly fainted when she heard the news." Christopher had a hard time believing that Mrs. Jennings was ever in any danger of swooning, especially when there was such a sensational story to be heard, but he held his tongue. "She's with your wife now, come to comfort her, I dare say."

"She's with Marianne?" Christopher instantly sat up in his chair, having half a mind to abandon the drawing room and seek out the ladies immediately.

"She was just coming down the stairs when your man showed us in, likely on her way to see you, I should think. Mrs. Jennings bustled her off to the gardens. Women talk and the like." Nodding slowly, Christopher couldn't help but wonder if Marianne had indeed been on her way to find him. It was a hopeful thought, but a comforting one nonetheless.

Some of his ire cooling off, Sir John took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and settling more comfortably into his chair. "What could Willoughby have been thinking, Brandon? The man's a scoundrel and a fool, but I didn't think he was quite so foolish as this."

"He apparently told Marianne he only wished to apologize to her."

"If he really felt so inclined, a letter would have sufficed, though I hardly think the man has any right at all to communicate with her in any way!"

"I couldn't agree more," Christopher sighed, watching somewhat bemusedly as Sir John made for the sideboard where he knew the brandy to be kept, pouring two liberal glasses and bringing one back to his friend. "Thank you," he murmured, swirling the contents of his glass before taking a sip.

"I am hopeful that Willoughby will not be foolish enough to try to approach her again."

"After becoming acquainted with your right hook? That should be incentive enough to keep him very far away, Brandon," Sir John chuckled appreciatively.

"Heard about that too, did you?" Christopher smiled.

"Oh, yes. The bastard deserved it, too."

Christopher hummed noncommittally, concentrating on nursing his drink rather than the conversation.

"Well, Brandon, I can see you're not much in the mood to talk. Now, now, don't try and apologize. I may be old and a widower, but I understand. You've had a nasty shock today, a nasty shock indeed. I only came over because I want you to know that you and your Marianne have my support, regardless of what happens. I'm not saying Willoughby will be back, mind, but I thought you might like to know that your friends are closer than you think."

"John, I hardly know what to say," Christopher said at length, truly touched by his old friend's gesture. Reaching his free hand across the breach between their chairs, he smiled tiredly as Sir John took his hand and shook it firmly. "You have been a good friend to me these many years, John. Thank you."

"Now, now," Sir John suddenly sputtered, freeing his hand instantly. "No thanks, no thanks! We've had quite enough of this sentimental drivel, I daresay. Now, you told me last night about a capital new gun that's just arrived from that seller in London. I demand you show it to me at once."

* * *

Though her feelings for Mrs. Jennings had undergone a good deal of change over the past three years, Marianne was having a rather difficult time putting up with her company at the moment. The woman was well-meaning, of course, but her timing couldn't possibly have been any worse. Squeezed beside her on a little bench that was barely large enough for the two of them, her countenance was somewhat stony as she listened to the woman prattle on and on about scoundrels and knaves.

"One can never be too careful, my dear!" she was saying now, remarking on some outlandish tale of a highwayman her daughter Charlotte had related to her in a recent letter. At least they had finally moved away from talk of Willoughby. Marianne was already horridly tired of hearing of him, even if her unexpected encounter with him was still so fresh.

All she wanted now was to find her husband. She realized she had been somewhat hasty in rushing away from him before, and deliberately hiding from him had been somewhat beneath her. Her outrage over his protective behavior had been very strong, but at length her indignation had abated and an understanding that his love for her was his only driving force had considerably soothed her.

When she had heard his song at the pianoforte from the guest room she had ensconced herself in, she had immediately come undone, weeping into her hands for a short time before firmly deciding that she would seek him out immediately and forget about their silly argument.

Her plans of reconciliation had had to wait, unfortunately, as Sir John and Mrs. Jennings had arrived just in time to see her hastening down the stairs. Left with little choice but to entertain Mrs. Jennings, she had allowed herself to be hauled away to the gardens where her neighbor's sympathetic horror and effusive advice had been duly offered without pretense of any kind.

And so it was that she was very much relieved to see Sir John coming into the gardens from the house with Christopher trailing not far behind him. She could see him hesitate upon the threshold, his eyes instantly alighting on her and holding her gaze for one heart stopping moment.

"Ah, Mrs. Brandon!" Sir John greeted with an effusion of boisterous warmth, offering her a quick bow before collecting his mother-in-law from the bench. "I am happy to see you looking so well, my dear, what with scoundrels roaming about the countryside."

"I have done my best to cheer your wife, Colonel," Mrs. Jennings grandly declared. "I now gladly pass the torch to you. I simply must get home and write to dear Charlotte about the goings on. She will be quite alarmed on your behalf, Marianne, quite alarmed!"

"You are very kind to come to visit me, Mrs. Jennings," Marianne said as warmly as she was able, rising from the bench to bid farewell to their visitors.

"Not at all, my dear, not at all. You can count on me to visit again very soon, of course. In fact, we were quite set on having a card party tomorrow evening, were we not, John?"

"A card party, yes! How could I have forgotten?"

"You will come, won't you?" Mrs. Jennings pleaded, seeking for Marianne's hands and squeezing them tightly.

"Of course, Mrs. Jennings. We should be delighted," Marianne softly agreed, relieved when Mrs. Jennings relinquished her grip upon her hands to link arms with Sir John.

"Excellent, my dear! Excellent! Then we shall see you both then!" With a profusion of quick farewells, Sir John and Mrs. Jennings turned back into the house to see themselves out, leaving Marianne and Christopher alone in the gardens.

They were still separated by several feet of space, regarding one another cautiously for what felt like an eternity. Just when Christopher was sure that the weighty silence would drive him mad, Marianne suddenly burst into action, throwing her arms around him and bursting into tears as she pressed her head against his chest.

He sighed into her hair, unspeakably grateful to have her back in his arms where she belonged. With gentle kisses and soothing words, he soon saw her through her tears, drawing her against his side and leading her to the privacy of a stone bench set amongst immaculately trimmed hedges.

"Oh, these silly tears. I thought I was finished with them. I don't suppose you've come to tell me you're sorry," Marianne whispered, hiding her impish, though subdued, smile against his broad shoulder. "I know that I am."

"You are what, wife?" Christopher asked teasingly, his arm drawn close around her shoulders.

"I'm _sorry_," she emphasized with a sigh, settling closer beside him.

"As am I, Marianne," he murmured into her ear, drawing her onto his lap and settling his arms about her once more. Their next moment of silence was a far more pleasant one, each of them relieved beyond words to be done with the unpleasant business of finding themselves at odds with one another.

"Mrs. Jennings means so well, I know that she does, but I thought she would drive me mad before long," said Marianne, smiling despite herself.

"We shall simply have to hide ourselves away for the rest of the day, I'm afraid," Christopher replied solemnly, twisting one of Marianne's golden curls around his finger. "Seeing that word of Willoughby's unannounced visit has already spread to our nearest friends and neighbors, it will only be so long before the entire county hears of it. The local gossips will all be delighted to hear of it."

"I should hope not! I can assure you that I am already quite tired of the entire affair. I just wish that we could simply forget about it all and go on as though nothing had happened."

Gently turning her head so that he could look into her eyes, Christopher said, "But it did happen, Marianne. You may think that it is already growing out of proportion, but the fact remains that what Willoughby did…"

"I know, Christopher. I know." She kissed him gently, her fingers lingering at the sides of his face. "I will not make excuses for him. But I don't want to speak of him anymore. I don't even want to _think_ of him. Since I am your wife and have you all to myself, I find that I am very selfish."

"Selfish, madam?"

"Yes, selfish. All that I want for now is to spend the day with my husband, to ignore the world at large and to just…_be_ with you."

"Then I must be selfish as well," Christopher chuckled, brushing the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. "I can imagine nothing I should like more than to keep you all to myself, Miss Marianne."

"Good," she smiled, sliding out of his lap and pulling him to his feet. "Then let's go inside. Perhaps we can find a way to amuse ourselves in the drawing room."

"Not so fast, wife," was low reply. At her questioning look, he continued, "First, I'm going to kiss you quite soundly." He did just that, grinning at his wife's charming laughter before capturing her lips with fervent determination.

"Next," he continued a little breathlessly, "I'm going to take you back inside and see that you have a hearty meal. I missed you very much at breakfast this morning, and it would be remiss of me to let you miss yet another meal." Here she laughed again as he strode along the path, pulling her alongside him as he hurried back to the house. "And after that, Miss Marianne, we shall simply have to see."

"And I thought you had a plan for everything," she grinned as they entered the house. "Surely you can see further ahead than that. Really, I had thought that you were a more capable Colonel."

Laughing at their banter, Christopher rejoined, "Madam, you underestimate me. It is sometimes in a soldier's best interest _not _to reveal every aspect of his plan, should he indeed have one. As to what awaits you after breakfast, I have already said that you shall have to wait and see."

Perfectly content to follow him, Marianne had no argument. All was well at Delaford again.

* * *

AN: You didn't really think they'd be angry at each other for very long, did you? Now is probably a good time to reiterate that this is largely based on the 1995 movie version of Sense and Sensibility. As you can probably tell, I am very fond of the quirky personalities of Sir John and Mrs. Jennings. I hope their antics aren't too dreadful to read about, but I find them very charming characters and see them as warm, if unorthodox, friends of the Colonel and Marianne.

Also, I have been _terribly_ remiss in responding to all your wonderful comments. I don't intend to let that ever happen again. Thank you so very much for your reviews, and I hope you'll keep reviewing! I promise to actually respond now that my life is settling down again. I actually love corresponding with other readers and writers, so please feel free to drop me a line anytime!


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